


Loose Tongues and Arrogance

by SecondStarOnTheLeft



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, mentions of abuse, mentions of sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:48:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1281643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was little to be understood about the King - an arrogant little boy given too much power too soon, likely with a sadistic streak if the condition of his lady was any indication. He knew all the right graces, of course, in that at least he had been taught properly, but Willas was not ignorant to the way the King’s gaze swept over Margaery, or how he glared jealously at Garlan and Loras when he thought none were looking, how his gaze turned mocking when it fell on Willas himself.</p>
<p>“Our lord father is yet chasing down the remainder of Lord Stannis’ forces,” Willas said, “and so allow me, Your Grace, to present the compliments of House Tyrell and the Reach, along with our most sincere fealty.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loose Tongues and Arrogance

**Author's Note:**

> Assume slightly aged up younger cast (Sansa's about 15 at the start, work everyone else from that). 
> 
> Sansa and Joffrey are married prior to Blackwater, and there's a little bit of timeline jiggery pokery, but it should be fairly easy to follow, so I hope you enjoy!

The King and his Queen made a striking pair when they rose to greet their saviours - mayhaps literally, Willas thought, as he noted the bright bruising on the Queen’s face, her neck, the way she cradled her free arm so carefully to her breast, as though it were paining her.

There was little to be understood about the King - an arrogant little boy given too much power too soon, likely with a sadistic streak if the condition of his lady was any indication. He knew all the right graces, of course, in that at least he had been taught properly, but Willas was not ignorant to the way the King’s gaze swept over Margaery, or how he glared jealously at Garlan and Loras when he thought none were looking, how his gaze turned mocking when it fell on Willas himself.

“Our lord father is yet chasing down the remainder of Lord Stannis’ forces,” Willas said, “and so allow me, Your Grace, to present the compliments of House Tyrell and the Reach, along with our most sincere fealty.”

 

* * *

 

The Queen was, of course, sister to a traitor, and few at court gave her a moment’s respite from that knowledge - it seemed the most direct way of currying favour with the King, to insult and belittle his Queen, to treat her as some sort of pretty trinket that had been proven to be _fool’s_ gold, not the real thing at all.

There was an abundance of gold at court, Willas thought, walking along with Garlan and surveying the endless parade of Lannisters that seemed to spring from every corner. If the King followed in his mother’s footsteps with regards to taste, mayhaps it was that he preferred gold above all - Cersei Lannister was always bedecked to the point of poor taste in the stuff, and, less literally, the Kingslayer’s hair was just as fair as her own when he returned crippled to court.

Willas almost pitied him, indeed _did_ pity him when the King mocked his “uncle” for all to hear and the obedient titters rang out about the high-ceilinged throne room. The King’s mockery was never clever, never witty, but it always received those same forced giggles of anxiety, for who did not fear that the King’s temper should find release next in them? In their daughters or wives or sisters or mistresses?

The Queen, Willas noted, did not laugh. She sat to her husband’s left and watched the courtiers with soft, sad eyes, spared their pity by their fear of the King and by the straightness of her spine, by how high she held her head even when he called her wicked names and announced, quite loudly, how he would make use of her body that night.

“She will not be difficult to bring to our side,” Margaery had whispered in his ear at dinner one night. “Which leaves just him, sweet brother, to be seduced.”

“He will be begging within a moon’s turn, little rose,” Willas had promised, winking as she drew away. “Leave our most regal ruler to me, and manage his pretty Northern bride yourself.”

 

* * *

 

And truthfully, the King was _remarkably_ easy to woo into taking Willas into his confidence. It was a simple matter of appealing to his absurd ego, of playing to his rather vulgar tastes.

Willas would not tolerate the abuses the King was rumoured to so enjoy, the abuses he took out primarily on a stream of whores but also on his Queen, but he could just about manage his sovereign’s rather brutal tastes during the hunt sufficiently to cement himself as Joffrey Baratheon’s preferred companion - why, he even managed to ignore the constant, _constant_ insults and jibes about his leg, his reliance on his crutch, without even once acting on his many urges to break the smug little bastard’s jaw.

Time spent with the King was time spent wasting Willas’ mind, which was a small sacrifice considering the more than ample rewards.

Gods above, though, the streak of sadism Willas had suspected was as wide as the Blackwater Sound and wider.

 

* * *

 

“She will not trust me,” Margaery whispered as they took the air in the gardens early one morning, while most of the city was still asleep. “She trusts no one at all, of course, but that has never been a true obstacle to me before.”

“I am sure it will not be forever, little rose,” Willas assured her. “Tell me, sweetling, have you spoken to Mother about the Queen’s maids?”

And so Margaery spoke with Mother about the Queen’s maids, and Willas and Father made discreet enquiries about the King’s men, and within the week they had all _sorts_ of wonderful little tidbits, if wonderful was truly the word for the ruin of the Queen’s slender body under her exquisite gowns, if wonderful could ever be the word for the horror of the King’s private self.

All the terrors aside, Willas was more than a little surprised that Mother (and Grandmother, although it was best to not rely entirely on her more… Aggressive plans) had not bought one or more of the Queen’s maids as soon as they had arrived in the city, as he and Father had immediately made moves towards securing the loyalty of three of the King’s men, Loras not among them.

Loras’ having been raised to the Kingsguard was incredibly useful, and Willas was glad to see his brother using some of the cleverness the gods had given him for once. He’d been an excellent spy, and the King had come to like toting him around as an accessory of some sort, as if declaring to the realm that he was untouchable, now that the finest knight still living was his personal guard.

He had been the one to guide them towards the men most likely to turn on the King, after all, and had charmed secrets not only from the Queen’s women but from the Queen Dowager’s as well - Willas had been amazed, quite frankly, at how determined Loras had been to do this, to serve the family. He wondered how much of it was a refusal to grieve and how much was the loathing they were all fast coming to feel for the King, and dared not question it too deeply for fear of the truths he might uncover.

 

* * *

 

“Dearest little sister,” Willas murmured, leaning over the back of Margaery’s chair as the King stared at her and she looked at the Queen with a worried little crease between her eyebrows. “Do share your burden and relieve yourself of your concerns.”

“The Queen,” she breathed, barely moving her lips, “is with child, and does not wish to be.”

“Is she indeed?” Willas said thoughtfully, pitying the beautiful woman-child sitting at the monster’s side the life that was hers. “And am I wrong to think that you and our sweet lady mother might offer her some comfort in her delicate condition?”

 

* * *

 

As easily as that, Margaery became as close to the Queen as Willas appeared to be to the King, although he rather suspected that it was a more sincere friendship on his sister’s part than it was on his own. Margaery was lucky, he could not help but think, to have merely had to earn the Queen’s trust to influence her, while he had to continuously show his fawning loyalty to the bastard sitting the throne to have any chance of guiding him along the path preferred by House Tyrell.

It was exhausting, and the longer he had to keep it up the shorter Willas’ temper seemed to become, especially when Margaery returned in the evenings sighing over _sweet_ Sansa, _kind_ Sansa, _gentle_ Sansa, while all he had was reports of the King’s latest perversion.

“Just a while longer, lad,” Father encouraged, clapping him on the shoulder before departing for bed. “Just until we can be certain.”

 

* * *

 

The Queen’s belly had not started to swell by the time the Dornish party arrived, so Willas assumed that Margaery’s quiet solution had been a success.

Oberyn seemed amazed by Willas’ apparent closeness to the King, but then, Willas could not help but be surprised by Oberyn’s apparent closeness to the Imp. Ellaria was the one to clarify everything, as she so often was, while the sweat was cooling on their skin and she was coiled between the two of them, stroking soft fingers through their hair.

“What clever boys you both are,” she purred, “luring in the Lannisters with false promises.”

And of course, that was all that it was - Oberyn wanted the Mountain in the same way Willas wanted the King (and they both wanted Lord Tywin, although both Prince Doran and Father would likely object), and the best weapons presently at their disposal were lies.

Willas found himself longing for home very suddenly as he dressed and departed Oberyn and Ellaria’s rooms, for the peace and honesty of his reading room and the stables. He enjoyed these games, of course, but when your opponent could not play back, in truth they weighed on the soul.

They felt hollow. Like selfish manipulation rather than a game at all. Willas disliked the feeling very much.

 

* * *

 

“The time is ripe,” Grandmother had insisted, and Willas suspected she was right - the King’s obsession with Queen Sansa seemed to have cooled somewhat, and his tastes in whores had changed from tall, slim girls with reddish hair to smaller, fuller-figured girls with brown curls - girls more like Margaery, Willas knew, and felt sick.

Margaery had taken to spending less time with Queen Sansa, and had surprised Willas by admitting that she had told a half-truth to explain her absence - that she aimed to distract the King, to give the Queen time to recover from her latest brutalisation, which was not entirely a lie.

Willas did not think that the Queen would have minded Margaery’s true motivations terribly, but Father and Mother agreed with him that they could not risk their plans being revealed ahead of time and so they had to be concealed from all but those who had parts to play in their execution.

Oh, the King was still fascinated by the effects his abuses had on his lady wife, but less obsessively so, and with her returning health her soft beauty seemed to flourish. As she began to spend more time at court and less in seclusion (in recovery), other gifts of hers began to flourish - Willas began to see the charity and piety both that he had heard so much of, in the way she patronised orphanages and motherhouses in the city, in the way she made daily pilgrimages to not only the Great Sept but to the godswood within the walls of the Red Keep.

Willas did not know where she had learned her politics, for they were surely not the fiery, proud sort the Lannisters favoured. Mayhaps it was the gentle nature of her, of which Margaery had been so complimentary and about which the King sneered constantly.

“She spreads her legs for me every night,” the King had confided in a drunken moment of camaraderie. “Stupid little slut, she thinks she can please me, but all she does is lie there and close her eyes - can you blame a man for trying to provoke a reaction?”

The King had all manner of means to justify his treatment of the Queen, none of which were effective to any mind save his own, but Willas said nothing and continued to lend a sympathetic ear, or the very least the appearance of one.

 

* * *

 

While Margaery was busy seducing the King, Willas unexpectedly found himself doing the same to the Queen, and wholly by accident at that.

He was devout himself, although not quite so actively as Queen Sansa, so it was inevitable that they would meet in the sept at some point. That was not the problem. The problem was that, knowing him as Margaery’s brother and thus surmising that his friendship with Joffrey could not possibly be built on common interests, the Queen sought him out - only when Loras was her guard, of course, for it seemed she trusted his little brother above all men, likely because Loras’ loyalty to the Lannisters was so clearly faulty.

He still turned to Father before Lord Tywin, after all.

But seek him out she did, once she had finished her prayers before Stranger and Crone and Mother and Warrior (but not the Maiden, and it saddened Willas’ heart to see so young a woman denied the Maiden’s care), if only to sit by his side and smile her sad smile when he raised his head after finishing his own petitions.

She never spoke a word, in fact pressed her finger to his lips when he tried to speak to her one coolly autumnal afternoon, and departed with nothing more than a bow of her head.

When he asked Loras, his brother shrugged. “She finds it restful, I think,” Loras explained. “It is nice for her to simply sit in the quiet without threat of the King visiting her.”

Loras’ smile had ever been a wicked thing, a teasing turn to it even when he was not japing, but there was nothing in it but mischief in that moment.

“She finds your company peaceful, brother,” he said, slipping out the door. “Be careful that peaceful does not become _boring._ ”

 

* * *

 

It was an easy routine, one Willas found a strange sort of relief in. His mornings were spent whispering in the King’s ear, turning him to Father’s wiles and whims, his early afternoons in the sept, in silent prayer at the Queen’s side, his late afternoons and evenings once more with the King, indulging the King’s many vices.

His nights alone were his own, spent often in Oberyn and Ellaria’s company although sometimes with Torwin Oakheart, who had come to King’s Landing simply because Willas was coming, who had been his friend from boyhood and who had puzzled out much of their plans simply by Willas’ continued tolerance of the King.

“Mind the pity you hold for his Queen does not turn to something else, Will,” Tor had warned as they rode down through the city, Tor to take his pleasures in one of the finer pillowhouses and Willas to spend his coin on the rather more valuable resource of information. “I know the romance that lies in your withered old heart, my friend, and if ever a woman existed to tempt you into loving, it is fair Queen Sansa.”

Willas disagreed, of course, had spent five-and-twenty years without falling in love once and could not see himself doing so in the near future, either, but he said nothing because Torwin was given to such fancies.

That night he learned of the Queen Dowager ordering the executions of her late husband’s bastard children, and the details of the massacre, and when he shared this new proof of her ruthlessness with his parents and Grandmother, they agreed that it was best that she be removed from the equation as painlessly as possible.

Within a week, Cersei Lannister was being packed off to Casterly Rock, fuming and raging all the way. Willas was surprised by how pleased he felt when he noted the gleam of triumph in the Queen’s clear, bright eyes.

 

* * *

 

“The Queen has been distant of late,” the King complained. “I suspect that she might have a lover, although there are none that I trust to investigate her.”

“If it please Your Grace,” Willas said, “I am often in the sept together with the Queen during the day - mayhaps I could make some overtures of friendship towards her, to gain her confidence? Once that is done, I could make enquiries of her fidelity.”

The King’s smile was as vicious as Loras’ was mischievous, his eyes as gleeful as the Kingslayer’s were suspicious - and oh, they were suspicious, glaring at Willas over the King’s shoulder - as he agreed, thanking Willas for his friendship and fealty.

“I fear I have been abominably rude, Your Grace,” he murmured the following afternoon as he sat in the sept, the sunlight through the crystalline windows making rose-gold of her hair. “I have never formally introduced myself to you, but I should like to do so now, if you permit it.”

 

* * *

 

For every hour Willas spent “gaining the Queen’s confidence,” Margaery seemed to spend two gaining the King’s devotion.

“He’s besotted,” she said in disgust from behind her bathing screen - Alla and Elinor were helping her scrub herself clean of the King’s tainted presence, but there was precious little time to spare before the feast for the Queen’s sixteenth nameday that night and so Willas had little choice but to remain as far as he could without forcing Margaery to raise her voice, which meant rather closer to her than either of them liked while they were bathing. “He constantly compares me with Queen Sansa, though, and I worry that he will not let her go unless he has someone influencing him to do so.”

Willas worried about the same thing, and Garlan was the one who presented the solution.

“You are his _dearest_ friend, Will,” he pointed out. “They have been wed for over a year now, and they have no children - tell him she’s barren. Tell him a King such as himself deserves something more from his bride than a childless traitor’s daughter.”

And really, it was as simple as that, so simple that he and Margaery had overlooked it. Grandmother was fond of saying that they often could not see the garden for the roses, and Willas could not deny that she was right to do so, at least sometimes.

 

* * *

 

“Your line cannot end,” Willas said, coaxing belief into Joffrey’s thick skull with honeyed whispers. “Yours is a line of conquerors, the union of two of the strongest Houses in the realm - the Queen tries, I know, and she is faithful to you, but Your Grace must consider the length of your marriage - blessed though you both are in many ways, you have not been blessed with children.”

“You are of the opinion that my wife is barren?” the King asked, surprised by Willas’ uncharacteristic forthrightness. “You suggest that I set her aside?”

“I understand that Your Grace loves the Queen dearly,” Willas murmured, barely restraining the urge to roll his eyes at how blatantly the King was watching Margaery, “but there are times when affairs of state must take precedence over affairs of the heart, sire. I fear that this may be one such time.”

“I could execute her for her infidelity,” Joffrey said, eyes brightening at the prospect of such bloodshed - "infidelity of the heart, even if you swear she is faithful in body. She has never loved me as I deserve.”

Willas thought that Queen Sansa loved the King precisely as much as he deserved, but he did not dare say as much - it would be foolish to do so, after all, particularly when Oberyn was sitting nearby, Oberyn whose apparent friendship with the Imp seemed to irritate the King to the point of provoking his temper, whose very presence seemed to irritate their lord and sovereign.

“That would only serve to further provoke the North and the Riverlands, sire,” Willas urged - Father greatly desired the King to sue for peace with the Starks, largely because of his desire to see Margaery as Queen of the _Seven_ Kingdoms. “No, set her aside, sire, and send her away from court. Keep her safe, see she is treated well for the love you bear her, but find a Queen who might give you sons as strong as yourself, as your lord father.”

 

* * *

 

“The King wishes to set me aside and take another wife,” she murmured as they walked through the godswood, arm and arm and huddling against the chill in the air. “He seems to have been given the impression that I am barren, my lord.”

“I cannot imagine who should have spread such slander, Your Grace,” Willas said softly. “But doubtless there is some plan to guarantee your safety in place.”

 

* * *

 

The plan to preserve Queen Sansa’s safety was as follows.

Manipulate the King into setting her aside and choosing Margaery as his new bride.

Manipulate the King into entrusting her to the care of House Tyrell and remove her to Highgarden.

Manipulate the King into suggesting a marriage to ensure that she could not challenge the next Queen.

 

* * *

 

“I entrust the Lady Sansa into the care of my greatest allies, House Tyrell of Highgarden, and pray that she can forgive me this - sometimes, sad though it is, affairs of state must come before affairs of the heart.”

Willas could hardly keep from laughing to hear his words coming verbatim from Joffrey’s mouth.

Margaery was announced as the King’s new betrothed within days of the ink drying on the contracts annulling his marriage to Lady Sansa, and Father all but danced a jig as soon as they were in private after the announcement.

“Ah, lad,” he laughed, clapping Willas’ shoulder in his delight, “you _have_ done a most excellent job!”

Oberyn’s eyes gleamed dark and sharp when Willas visited that night, and he raised his cup in mocking toast.

“A Stark bride, and only slightly second-hand,” he sneered. “But such potential, hmm? I dare say your children will _grow strong_ within her, where the King’s failed?”

 

* * *

 

The weather stayed clear, if cold, all the way along the roseroad to Highgarden, and Lady Sansa rode quietly by Willas’ side - she hardly said a single word beyond the barest courtesies, and it was not until they were only a day or so away from home that she explained why.

“The day we left,” she said softly, “Lord Tyrion drew me aside to tell me that… That my mother and my brother, my last brother, are. That they are dead.”

His heart broke for her, just a little, that her last hope of _her_ home was now well and truly gone, for surely Tywin Lannister would arrange for Winterfell to go to anyone but her.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Will Lady Margaery not miss you at her wedding, my lord?” she asked, and he was unsure how to answer - of course Margaery would miss him, just as he would miss her at his own, but what point was there in admitting such a thing when it would only distress Lady Sansa?

He might have been a manipulative, self-serving bastard, but Willas was not a cruel man, and Lady Sansa deserved some respite from such distress as she had weathered these past years.

He wondered how she felt about their own impending marriage. He wondered how he might ask her, considering he desired little more than to be honest with her but seemed to have lost the knack for honesty during his time at the King’s side.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [One word turns into a war](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1297804) by [SecondStarOnTheLeft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft)




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